The Curious End of Finnick Odair
by Daughter of Lestrange
Summary: **SPOILERS FROM MOCKINGJAY** "What was it they used to say? 'Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated'," Finnick laughed.
1. Prologue

THE CURIOUS END OF FINNICK ODAIR

PROLOGUE

The end. Certain death. Failure. As the reptilian creatures began to bear down on him, these were his first thoughts. His friends? They did not seem to be making any effort to save him. How could they not know he had fallen? Fear. Then more thoughts. _The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee's trident, waves braking over rocks. Annie in her wedding dress._ Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming his name.

He was vaguely aware for awhile of the slithering white beasts. Three were upon him now, claws sinking into his flesh and tearing it open as though he were made of parchment. One of them had begun dining on his left foot. He tried to turn his head away, and saw the largest Mutt swimming through the rank water. He watched as it made its lumbering way up to him. It bore its front talons into his chest. The creature snapped its jaws above him. It gave an awful hiss and he could smell the decay on its breath. It gaped its mouth at the others, warning them that this human was its own feast. He felt the salivation drip onto his face from the creature's anticipation of fresh blood. He closed his eyes. All at once the teeth pierced him. His life began draining away in a red rush down his front.

_Yes,_ he thought. _That's it then, Finnick. Dead. And all alone. There won't even be any remains to find. I've failed. Oh, Annie, please forgive me...Annie...  
_Then everything went black. Then white. An intense heat and a massive, shoving force. Impact. Broken. And finally, a more permanent blackness.

* * *

Voices. Finnick could hear them, but they were all so far away. Above him, surrounding him, they seemed to be everywhere.

_I'm here!_ He wanted to scream. _Over here! What's left of me._

Something filled his mouth. He couldn't get it out. He knew he just had to. This could be his only chance at being saved. He tried to raise his hand to remove whatever was obstructing his speech. It wouldn't obey. When he tried harder, pain shot up his arm, putting him in agony, yet his arm stayed still.

He wanted to look at it, but his head wouldn't turn. He attempted, then, to simply open his eyes. Darkness. Was he blind? Or was whatever was covering his mouth also coating his eyes? Either way, he realized that he no longer had a means to free his arm. No way to clear his mouth. No way to call for help.  
And the voices? They began fading.

_NO!_ He cried out mentally. _I'm still here! Over here! Over here!_

"Over here!" One of the voices yelled. "We've got another one!"

Finnick could feel hands on him in different places, though the voices still sounded distant.

"This one is in critical condition."

"Is he even alive?"

"Barely. It looks like this Mutt actually made a good shield. It certainly got the best of this kid before it died though."

"This looks like the initial blast site. It's a miracle he was buried."

"It's a miracle he wasn't blown to bits. Come on, let's get him on the craft. There's probably more bodies down there. I'd like to get out of here, this place reeks. Doesn't look like _he's_ got much time either."

"Careful, his neck is broken."

Finnick was vaguely aware of someone supporting his head. Something extremely firm was strapped around his neck. Things were being pressed into other wounds. At last, there was a glorious relief as the dead Mutt's body was lifted off of him. He heard a whole assortment of shifting, falling dirt and rocks clunking together. He felt lighter and lighter as more and more rubble was taken off of him. It gave him a weightless sort of sensation. People lifted him and then placed something under him. Then he really did become weightless. He was rising, being pulled upward.

Loud mechanical noises came from above him. His brain was desperately searching for an answer to it all. To recall where he had heard these sounds before. The lifting finally stopped and a metal door clanged shut. Finnick felt movement again, a swift, smooth forward motion. Perhaps flying, or hovering. Hovering... that was it. He had been placed on a hovercraft.

More people began talking all around him. The voices were both male and female. There were using medical words and phrases that he couldn't understand. He felt something plastic being pressed over his nose and mouth. Needles were jabbed into his arms. He began to feel exhausted and heavy, then the familiar blackness overtook him once more.

**((Hello reader! This is my first Hunger Games fanfic. I'm sorry this one is so short, but it's only the prologue, after all! Anyway, I'm very excited about this one! PLEASE REVIEW, I love hearing what you think. I hope you enjoy it! May the odds be ever in your favor)) **


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Finnick finally began drifting in and out of sleep. The very first time he woke for any substantial period of time, he heard himself screaming. He had no recollection of why and that frightened him even more. As he blinked around, he could tell he was in a very unfamiliar room. All silver and white, with a horrible pea green curtain surrounding his enclosure. Everything was blurry and distorted as though he had just come up from under water. There was an irritating, pulsing beep coming from somewhere up to his left by his head. Then he began to sense things all over his body. Bandages, wrappings, tubes, things taped onto his chest and something was in his nose.

He attempted to sit up to see what was going on, or at least get a better idea of where he was. He was stopped by a thick leather strap buckled across his chest. Confused, he decided he needed to take it off. He found that his hands were tied down by his sides. Finnick broke out in a cold sweat of sheer terror. This was most certainly the work of the Capitol! They had captured him and were probably going to use him for freakish experiments, or torture him for information. His mind raced frantically, his blood alternating between ice and fire.

He began to scream again. A name this time, but one that he could not place. It just felt right.  
"Annie! ANNIE!"

An alarm sounded. Outside his room, a red light flashed. Men and women in white coats and masked faces rushed in. The beeping sound by his head had intensified and was increasingly rapid. One of the men was standing by it and writing something down. A woman had her hand on his forehead and was speaking to him in a soothing voice. Another woman stood at the foot of his bed with a clipboard, scribbling things down. The other man came to stand behind the first. Finnick looked up at him and saw him adjusting a dial under a plastic bag. Finnick's eyes followed the tube that snaked out of the bottom of the bag and saw that its end went into his arm. The man then produced a needle and eased it gently into Finnick's arm.

He managed to croak out one last 'Annie' before the drugs took over and his eyelids became too heavy to keep open.

* * *

The next time he woke, he was slightly more coherent. At least he wasn't screaming. Looking around with clearer eyes, he realized he was in a hospital. His fear of being trapped in the Capitol ebbed. This place was clean and smelled impeccably sterile. He knew from past punishments he'd had to endure for standing up to Snow, that they would never conduct their little experiments in such an environment. They wouldn't care if he lived or died. Here, he was being cared for. He wasn't just one more expendable citizen.

Finnick became more aware of his own body. He still couldn't move much, but he was no longer tied down. His lack of movement was from the sheer number of bandages covering him. He felt like he was in a cocoon. He wondered why they hadn't just put him in a full body cast. Surely that would have been much less trouble!

So, he was badly injured and in some sort of intensive care unit. Finnick thought long and hard about why and how he had come to be here, but that part of his mind was empty. When he decided to see how far back he could remember, he found that his memory had gone back to basics. He lived in a country called Panem. The were ruled by an iron fist who went by the name of President Snow. He had had run ins with this president and knew that he had deep seeded hatred for the man, but he wasn't too clear on why. He was from District 4. He was familiar with beaches and water. That was his passion. He tried to remember his name, and tough he couldn't come up with one, he suspected it started with an F. Then a name did hit him. Annie. He got a happy, comforting feeling from that. It was so familiar. Warm and inviting. It sounded sweet in his head. He decided, rather irrationally, that this must be his name.

He sighed internally. _What happened to me?_ And then a more worrying idea. _Does anyone know that I'm here?_

It didn't take much longer for a doctor to appear in his room. He smiled at Finnick, going to the end of the bed and taking a clipboard off of it. He marked a few things down before hanging it back up.

"Finally awake, Mister Odair? That's a good sign. We were afraid we were going to lose you. How are you feeling?"

Odair? Was that his name? That sounded right, too. Did people have two names? Yes, he remembered, they did. First and last. His name must be Annie Odair, then.

The other words made no sense to him. Somewhere through his fog, Finnick heard a cue to reply to this man. Yes or no? He thought about it and realized that yes or no wouldn't be the correct response. What was it? He turned the words over in his head individually. How. Are. You. Feeling. Feeling seemed to be a rather large word right now. He chose to focus on the others.

_How. Am. I._ He thought. _How am I...? OH! Right. I know how to answer that!_

He attempted to say 'good', which was a complete lie, but his thoughts were on full automatic. He opened his mouth and gurgled. It was a truly horrible sound, a likeness to drowning. Finnick couldn't understand what was wrong, but he was embarrassed nonetheless.

The doctor suppressed a laugh. "I see we haven't quite got our voice back yet. Never mind, then. You just rest and we'll worry about that later."

As the doctor left, Finnick was left wondering what 'rest' was. Rest... as in, the rest of something? He could recall hearing that someone would like the rest of something.

_It was the rest of... the rest of the pie, _he thought._ Yeah. And I know what pie is. I like pie._

He completely unaware that he was drifting off again.

Finnick then began sleeping and waking in random patterns. He managed to figure out that it was the morphling drugs they had him on. He appreciated not being in pain, but not so much being forced back to sleep. Each time he woke, he could remember more. He was becoming much more aware and alert. Day by day, they began to reduce the amount of morphling.

At some point, a person had placed a photograph on his lap while he had been snoozing. He woke to find it laying there. Curious, he picked it up.

It was a head-shot of a young lady, a couple of years younger then him. Her beauty captured him. She was thin, though not in an unhealthy manner. She looked lean and strong. She had brown hair that flowed down to her chest. Her wide almond eyes were a forest mixture of green. She had round pink cheeks, giving her a youthful, baby face. Her smile was kind but shy.

Finnick felt he had seen this face a million times before, only he couldn't place a name to it. He felt a deep connection to this girl. It stirred all sorts of emotions inside him, pleasant, unpleasant and others that he did not want to admit to because they made him blush.

He puzzled and puzzled as to why he found her so moving. It came to him that he had seen her in his dreams. Still, there was much more to her then that. He knew her. He _knew_ that he knew her. But where from?

He was almost certain that she had not been part of whatever incident he had landed him in this hospital. He looked at her face again. The only word that came to his mind was home. Yet where was home? In District 4? That seemed likely. District 4 was large. Perhaps she had been at school with him. Or lived in his neighborhood? Possible. Still, he felt he knew her more intimately then that. His subconscious told him they were quite close and had spent a lot of time together.

Did she live with him? His sister, perhaps? Wrong again, said his inner self. He sighed. He _did_ know her in any case. She was probably a very good friend, he figured and decided to leave it at that.

Finnick yawned and decided to give himself a break and go back to sleep. He set the photograph face down on the little side table by his bed. That was when he noticed that a piece of paper had been taped to the back of the picture. Odd. It looked blank. He examined it, detached it from the photo and flipped it over. Finnick found himself looking at a short letter in female handwriting. He surprised himself by discovering that he still remembered how to read.

_Hi you!_ The letter began.

_I really miss you. The doctor said you might want a picture of me for when I can't be there, so here it is. I hope you start to feel better soon! At least, better enough that I can come in and see you. I have a HUGE surprise for you! Sleep well for now though. I'll see you as soon as I can. _

_Love you so, so, SO much!_

_ Annie_

Annie?! But.. no, he was Annie! Wasn't he? He sighed. Now nothing made sense. Back to square one. Who _was _he?

**((Sorry it took me so long to put this up. I'll try to be faster with chapter 2! Please REVIEW :) See you in 3 soon... P.S. Who saw Catching Fire this weekend?! Hit me up if you want to fangasm about it haha Just don't forget to REVIEW!))**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The longer he could stay awake, the bored he became. There wasn't even a television in this room. Finnick usually liked to read, only under the circumstances, the small print tired his eyes out and most plots made his brain ache. He would inevitably fall back asleep. He wished he could get his hands on a computer, though he was unsure of what he could really do with one even if they brought it to him. At the rate he was going, he figured he would only be able to navigate to a video website to watch old television shows or movies from the internet. Even then, he could barely comprehend cartoons. That was still better then nothing. He could watch the shows he had loved as a child in District 4 – things like Bob The Fisher, Timmy Tigershark, Scuba The Explorer, or even The Little Merman. The more he thought about it, the more he secretly missed them.

Within a few days, Finnick knew exactly how many tiles were on the ceiling. He knew how many beeps that irritating machine could usually make in a minute. He had counted the ugly blue dots on one hospital gown, and the horrid green stripes on another. He could time it down to the nearest second when a doctor or nurse came in to check on him, or when his meals would arrive.

He wished someone might leave more mail for him. Maybe that girl from the photo would bring him more information. This was about the only thing that kept hi mind occupied. That need to figure out who he was. If could only remember that, he thought that more things would follow it. Perhaps he would remember everything. In any case, information was about the only thing he wasn't getting around there. He'd been told he was supposed to remember it on his own. According to his doctor, that was very important. That was a nice idea, but what if couldn't remember? That was bound to cause all kinds of awkwardness. _Hello, _he could hear himself saying. _I'm here for that job you offered. My name? I don't know, they won't tell me. _Or even worse. _Do you, kid with no name, take this woman to be your bride? You do? Too bad, you have to sign a document to make it legal._

Finnick found little games he could play to occupy himself. One of his favorites was mooning the nurses. He would act as though he had rolled over in his sleep, which had happened once on accident, but now was fully on purpose. Because he was still technically in intensive care, the wall looking into his room was made entirely of glass. His gown still had no back, and he was not given any underclothing until all of his wounds healed. He realized that if he laid on his stomach, anyone walking past his room would only see his bare butt, as his legs and stomach were still under wrap. This never failed to cause minor panics. He didn't do this often, so that they wouldn't let on that he was doing it on purpose, but he always had a great laugh after they had "woken him up" to flip him back over and left.

On another particularly boring morning, he noticed that some careless orderly had left a box of discarded syringe caps. Some of his bandages were quite flexible and would stretch for a ways, then spring back to their previous position. Finnick made a sort of slingshot out of the top most layer, and the empty caps became a tiny rocket. He spent most of the morning launching them at random items in the room. He forgot entirely to watch the clock, and was just as surprised as the nurse when he let one of his makeshift darts go and it knocked her paper hat off. She seemed unsure whether to laugh or scold him, so she simply took the caps away and left Finnick to pout.

At night, the doctors came and went, just to make sure each patient was still breathing. He thought they were probably being as quiet as they could, though most of them didn't realize how much noise they actually made. When one was trying to sleep and failing, every noise was magnified. The nurses spoke in hushed voices about the random goings on in their lives. It wasn't until he feigned sleep for two nights in a row that he noted how they had a tendency to talk about their supposed sleeping patient when they first entered the room. He heard the mention him a few times, yet only in regards to his injuries or vitals. It seemed they would start their gossiping by the fourth or fifth round they made. By the third night, he really was quite tired, bu he forced himself to stay awake. They would eventually let slip information he needed to get his brain working again.

"Room 657, Odair," whispered one of the nurses.

Finnick heard a rustling of papers.

"Right, got it." A pen scratching on paper. The second one sounded much younger then the first. "Why can't they ever put these in order? You'd think it'd be easier to put them by room number instead of name."

"They're sorted by last name in the system. They just go by ward and print them out like that. That would certainly make our lives easier though."

The older one read off his vitals to the younger nurse who scribbled them down.

"Is it just me, or does he look extremely familiar? I keep thinking I've seen him around before."

"He was a tribute," the older nurse said.

A tribute? The rusty wheels of Finnick's brain began slowly creaking into motion. _Come on, _he silently begged. _Keep talking. I need more then that!_

"Really?" She sounded excited. "How long ago? He looks so young!"

"They sent him to the arena twice. You probably saw him last year, in the Quarter Quell. His first Hunger Games was the 65th. "

"I was only 8 years old then, no wonder I don't remember him," she laughed quietly. "What with the war and all, I don't remember much of the Quarter Quell either. I remember they blew up the arena. Was he in that group?"

The older nurse laughed. "My girl, you really don't know who he is do you? If you had been a few years older in '65, you certainly wouldn't have forgotten him. He's one of the most popular tributes in the history of the games! With the ladies, anyway. That's Finnick Odair!"

"No!" The girl gasped. "_This_ is Finnick?! But Finnick was so gorgeous!"

"Well, how do you think you would look if you were mauled by mutts and blown up in a sewer?" The older nurse tsked. "He doesn't look _that_ bad. It's not easy to put all new skin on someone's face, you know. They'll fix all those scars once it heals. In fact, he'll probably look better then he did during his Quarter Quell interviews."

"But they said on TV that he died during the rebellion. How is he here?"

"It was a rather curious end. Snow said he had been killed, but apparently that was just an assumption. No one seems to know exactly how Finnick managed to survive all of that. My guess is that he went to another place in mind, but I'm no expert on that kind if thing. All they do know is that the mutt that tried to kill him died when someone dropped a bomb in the sewer. The corpse fell on top on of him and shielded him from the blast and the rubble. Still, by all accounts he should be dead. There was certainly nothing like that in the arena." Then she sighed. "It does seem like the 75th games were quite a while ago, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. And to think we'll never have them again. I just wish they'd had a better plan of what to do after taking the Capitol down."

The women began to shift around. Finnick heard footsteps and their voices began to fade. A door clicked closed a few yards away and he knew they had gone.

His mind reeled. It was more information then he had dared hope for. It was all too much. He was simply exhausted from trying to absorb everything, but there was certainly no way he could sleep now. How was he supposed to process all of it?

Suddenly, a memory came to him. A girl, younger then he was. She was bold as brass and pretty, though he had always guessed she didn't know it. She was tall for a girl and lean. She had long, dark hair that she usually wore in a braid. The picture of her in his head saw her holding a bow and arrow. He knew she was a friend. An ally. The only thing he couldn't recall was her name, though he thought he was fairly sure it was something floral. Ironic, as there seemed nothing floral about the girl at all.

It was not only her he thought of now, but a conversation. Something she had been trying to teach him. He and a small group of people. He remembered her telling them that in hard times, when things were too confusing and you were not sure what was true, then focus on what you know. He could hear her coaching another boy at it. Helping him repeat what he knew. He could even recall that boy's name, thinking about that conversation now. Peeta Mellark. He felt slightly triumphant at being able to extract the boy's name from the mire of his mind. He had to keep reliving that coaching now. How she had taken Peeta through it. He had to put together what he had just been told with what he already knew using her method.

_My name is Finnick Odair, _he thought. _I am 24 years old. My home is in District 4. I love the water. I was a tribute in the Hunger Games. Twice. I survived. I was part of a rebellion. I am supposed to be dead. I lived. The Hunger Games are over. The Capitol has fallen._

From this, many, many more memories came back to him. He let his mind go where it wanted to. He was certainly not going to go back to sleep for a long time.

**((Please review :D I'm going to say this after every chapter until you do haha A huge thank you to those who already have! I'm working on Ch 3 already. I'm hoping Annie will make her way in to it, but we'll just have to wait and see ;) ))**


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